


Best Nemeses

by juniperallura



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hogwarts AU, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 15:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10516296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniperallura/pseuds/juniperallura
Summary: Lance and Keith's complicated relationship reaches a boiling pointA companion to my Hogwarts Fic, "Witchcraft & Wizardry & Voltron"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my longer Hogwarts AU  
> Will eventually be folded into that as a new chapter

“You guys _can’t_ be serious-” Lance’s face twisted with a mixture of incredulous nerves. He perched at the edge of the couch, hands gesturing wildly as his eyes alternated between narrowed in suspicion and bulging in indignation. “ _Keith_. My _worst enemy_ — andeven worse, a _Slytherin!_ ”

Pidge and Hunk exchanged flat glances. Pidge closed her book, covering the face of a carved badger as she set it down on the wooden table. “C’mon, Lance, your _worst_ enemy? You two are together all the time.” She adjusted her glasses, sitting back against the plush low chair with a shrug, “It’s pretty obvious, even to me.”

Lance turned to Hunk for support, but Hunk held up his hands in defense. “Look, we’re not saying you’re in _love_ with the guy-” He tapped his chin, looking into the fire as he tried to choose his words carefully, “You guys just have… chemistry. And sure, he’s a Slytherin, but they’re not _all_ bad— Keith’s a cool guy.”

“Keith’s _emo!_ ” Lance cried, laying back against the couch as his mind raced to justify the heat that rushed to his face at the thought of him _liking_  Keith. He reached up, poking the end of a spiral fern that draped down from its hanging copper pot. “Rubbish. We have nothing in common! We fight all the time! He’s got a _mullet_ —I can’t like a guy with a _mullet.”_

The other two suspected that the last part was more to himself than anyone else. They left him to stew and returned to their homework, agreeing it leave it where it lay.

| **h** | **o** | **g** | **w** | **a** | **r** | **t** | **s** | 

“-Lance!”

Lance stopped before the entrance to the Great Hall as a voice echoed down from the stairs. He saw the glint of a green tie, and gestured at the boy he had been walking with, a friend from Transfiguration, to go ahead of him. 

Keith jogged over to meet him, a bright smile lighting up his features. “Hey! You weren’t in Potions yesterday, I have your essay-” He handed Lance the folded piece of parchment. Something in Lance’s face, the unfocused eyes and the pink tinge in his cheeks, prompted Keith to reach out, laying his hand on Lance’s shoulder with knitted brows. “Pidge said you were sick, are you okay?”

It took Lance a second to respond. Keith didn’t smile very often, but when he did it radiated a striking warmth; and his eyelashes were so _long_ \- had he never noticed them before? The conversation with Pidge and Hunk flashed before Lance’s eyes. A violent, panicked heat rushed to his cheeks. He stiffened under Keith’s touch, the skin under his hand burning. He immediately looked away, muttering a quick, “Yeah, I’m fine-”

Keith blinked in surprise. He followed what he thought was Lance’s gaze over to a red tie and blond undercut that waved at them from the entryway to the Great Hall; suddenly, something tight and dark knotted itself in his stomach. He quickly withdrew his hand from Lance’s shoulder. “Oh, sorry,” he pressed his lips together tightly, clearing his throat, “I guess I’ll see you in class.”

Lance knitted his brows, ice creeping into his countenance as he met Keith’s cold gaze. _See?_ He told himself, _emo._ He nodded and they parted without a word, each crossing his arms over the growing storm in his chest. 

| **h** | **o** | **g** | **w** | **a** | **r** | **t** | **s** | 

Even for a Quidditch Championship night, it was a miracle that the Gryffindor Common Room didn’t get raided by the Curfew Police (aka Head Boy, Head Girl, and some overzealous professor). Although, maybe it wasn’t _so_ miraculous considering Shiro and Allura were also co-captains of the winning team— and could be easily spotted snogging among the party-goers. Regardless, the cacophony of music and overlapping chatter, punctuated by the occasional victorious chant, bled into the hallway and it was clear that there was more than Butterbeer sloshing around in the cups that littered the room.

Students from every house packed into the room— Keith was a shoo-in, on account of Shiro, Pidge, as someone else’s plus-one, had been coaxed into socializing, and Hunk was such a sweetheart that it didn’t seem to matter that he had tried his hardest to knock out every one of the Gryffindor players just a few hours ago on the pitch. All in all, it had the makings of an epic night; except—

Lance took another swig from his drink, keeping his arms crossed as his eyes swept across the room. For a Seeker who had just clinched the Quidditch Cup for his house, he was in an awfully bad mood. He wasn’t sure why he was continually pricked with annoyance, or why his gaze wouldn’t stop being drawn to the fireplace. It definitely had nothing to do with a certain black mullet leaning against the wall across from a certain Gryffindor Chaser named Max. Lance hadn’t even _considered_ how close they were standing, or how he could hear Keith’s laugh echoing over the rest of the party. Never. Even. Thought. Of. It.

Pidge and Hunk came sidling over from his peripherals, having just escaped Matt’s drunkenly rapturous _Pidge-I’m-so-proud-of-you-my-beautiful-baby-sister_ clutches. “Lance!” Hunk beamed at him, clapping him on the shoulder, “Why all the lurking? It’s your celebration, man, what’s up?”

Lance rolled his eyes, blowing a dismissive breath through his teeth. “Lurking? Why would I be lurking? I’m not even lurking-”

Pidge raised her eyebrows. “Wow.”

Hunk glanced in the direction Lance was still glowering toward. “ _Ah-_ ” he couldn’t help a smirk as the realization dawned on him, “C’mon man, have some fun! Let’s dance, the music’s good!”

Pidge chimed in, “Yeah, _I’ll_ even dance with you guys- and we can crash into whatever’s happening with _those_ two.” She nodded toward Shiro and Allura.

A slow smile spread of Lance’s face. “Okay,” he acquiesced, “ _Only_ because I love watching you try to dance, Pidge-”

She let the dig slide, she and Hunk pulling him toward the messy cluster in the middle of the room with a rousing cry of, “ _Gryffindor!_ ” 

Keith looked up in time to see them moving into the crowd. “Hey!” he called, waving at Lance. He moved toward them, Max following behind him with a smile. 

A hot feeling rose again in Lance’s stomach; he was pretty sure it _wasn’t_ the Firewhiskey. With a laugh that sounded strange even to him, he yelled over the music, “Sorry Keith, we’re having _fun-_ ” 

For the rest of the night Lance tried to throw himself into the celebration, but somehow it was easier said than done. Any other night he’d be _basking_ in the toasts and chants and claps on the back, but he just couldn’t stop his eyes from sliding over to the drink table, where a slender figure was still leaning against the goddamn wall. 

Eventually the party had thinned out and quieted enough that Lance could find himself sitting on a loveseat, facing a Ravenclaw girl who had been talking about how great the match was for who even knew how long. She was cute, and was sitting very close to him, and kept reaching out to touch his arm. Lance’s eyes slid away from hers. Keith was across the room, chatting with Shiro and Matt. And for whatever reason, his shadow had morphed into the spitting image of _Max_. Lance turned his gaze back to the girl- _Ada_ , he was pretty sure. Maybe Adele. He smiled, leaning a little closer to her. “Well, y’know I could’ve taken the Snitch about twenty minutes earlier, if _someone_ hadn’t been so clumsy with the Quaffle…”

His eyes flickered back to the far end of the Common Room. Keith was looking at him. His brows were knit. Ada touched Lance’s arm again. “I’m sure you could’ve,” she giggled. Lance could still feel Keith’s eyes on him. He leaned in, and their lips met. 

His hands found her waist and she leaned into him, every touch sticky with Firewhiskey. After a few minutes they pulled apart, breathless. “I should probably go home,” she giggled. 

Lance nodded, planting a few more kisses on her jaw as she assured him she’d be safe getting back on her own. She gave him a parting wave as she hopped out the painting door, and Lance sat back with a self-satisfied smirk. 

“’Night, Keith-” Lance turned as Shiro’s voice echoed through the now nearly empty room. He caught Keith’s glance as he walked by the sitting area on his way out; his face was cold. Lance glanced back— Max was nowhere to be found.

Pidge and Hunk followed close behind, strange expressions on their faces as they congratulated Lance again and wished him goodnight. The smirk faded slowly from his face. The churning feeling returned to his stomach, this time accompanied by a tight feeling in his chest. Suddenly angrier than he had been earlier in the night, he pushed off the couch and strode toward his dormitory, swatting away Allura’s hand when she reached out to say goodnight to him. 

| **h** | **o** | **g** | **w** | **a** | **r** | **t** | **s** | 

A couple weeks passed without a word between Keith and Lance; of course, had anyone asked them about it, they’d claim there was _absolutely nothing_ going on. Shiro and Allura tried to, once, but Lance saw it coming a mile away after he spotted Shiro in some deep-looking conversation with Keith and Allura suddenly started pulling her ‘older sister’ routine on him. Keith was equally slippery when it came to Hunk and Pidge’s attempts to pin him down. This was just what friends/nemeses did, right?

Eventually, the silence of their non-fight was broken when Keith arrived late to Potions class and the only open seat was next to a familiar back. He dropped into the chair, briefly meeting Lance’s cool glance. His stomach dropped but his chest fluttered, all of him torn between dread and excitement.

Lance’s eyes bore into his parchment. It had been awhile since he and Keith were less than a few feet apart. Lance hadn’t realized how familiar his scent had been — and that he’d never seen his hair pulled into that little ponytail. Lance tugged at the collar of his robes, the weight of their silence now pressing down on him. The first thing that came out of his mouth dripped with sarcasm. “ _Nice ponytail_.”

Keith’s eyes flashed to him. He couldn’t name all of the things that bubbled up in his chest. He cleared his throat, answering curtly, “I’m going to the pitch after class.”

Lance rolled his eyes and scoffed; the sound seemed to startled Keith, who jumped a little in his chair. Lance raised a brow and reached down to open his messenger bag, revealing the red and gold of his Quidditch uniform. His tone came out like a challenge, “I’m running drills.”

“Good thing there’s room for both of us.” Keith’s lips were pressed tightly together.

They turned, red faced, to the front of the class as the professor began lecturing. 

Somehow, they managed to avoid walking to the Quidditch Pitch together but met in the center of the field, two spots of red and green in the silver mist that clung to the grounds. Keith unfurled his fingers to reveal the Snitch, its delicate wings unfolding and beating fitfully against his grip. He raised a brow at Lance. “Ready?”

Lance mounted his broom with a nod. Keith released the Snitch and the two of them shot after it into the fog. 

The low visibility made it imperative for them to keep their eyes trained on the Snitch, but neither could help glancing over at the other as they sped around the pitch. They lost each other in the mist when the golden ball made a sharp turn, but practically collided when they recovered its track. Lance turned to glare at Keith, urging his broom forward as he stretched out his arm. Keith strained to inch in front of Lance, returning his look and throwing out his own hand. They jostled each other’s shoulders as they raced side by side through the air. Lance leaned just slightly to the left, nudging Keith at the elbow. Keith responded with more force, knocking into Lance’s broom. The Snitch took them into a dive, and soon they were skimming the ground, veering into one another with venomous glares. 

Lance stopped short as the Snitch flitted up into the fog and out of view. He tossed his broom aside, throwing an accusatory finger at Keith, who had skidded to a halt. “What’s your _problem,_ Kogane?”

“ _My_ problem?” Keith jabbed a finger toward himself. “What’s _your_ problem? I didn’t do anything to you-”

Lance scoffed contemptuously, his eyes flashing. “Are you serious? One minute you’re all nice to me like we’re _friends_ and then you ice me out, I know you talked about me to everyone else-”

“-Because Pidge said you thought I put _mugroot_ in your draught just to _fail_ you,” Keith cried, “You’re always so _suspicious_ of me!”

“ _You_ can’t stop trying to one-up me-” Lance threw up his hands, “You’re so competitive you couldn’t even say ‘ _congrats’_ when I won the _Quidditch Cup_!”

Keith’s face flared with color. “Well maybe I could’ve if you hadn’t had your tongue halfway down Ada Patterson’s _throat_ the whole night!”

“ _Augh_ , you drive me _crazy!”_ Lance hadn’t realized how close they had inched toward each other until he was close enough to drive a finger into Keith’s chest. His blood pounded wildly in the tip of his finger. “Why do you even _care_?”

Keith’s steely eyes flashed. He cried, “Because I _like_ you, okay?”

Keith’s nails dug into his palms. Every nerve in his body was screaming. His eyes were glued to Lance’s azure gaze, trying to unearth some reaction from their depths as the sparking silence stretched on for agonizing seconds. 

The air between them crackled. Lance couldn’t breath as something deep inside him broke. All the heat in his body was suddenly focused on the point where his flushing skin met Keith’s. Keith’s eyes seemed to burn into his, framed by those dark lashes; Lance couldn’t look away from his lips, parted just slightly after delivering that thunderbolt. For the first time he realized, really, truly, fully, how he saw Keith— what all those twisting, knotting, churning feelings in his gut had been trying to tell him for so, _so_ long.

Lance lurched forward, shattering the sparking tension. His hands reached out to clutch the folds of Keith’s uniform. There was no hesitation before their lips crashed together, eyes squeezed shut and hearts pounding. Keith leaned hungrily into Lance’s kiss, his hand flying up to curl perfectly against the Lance’s jaw. Lance’s hand snaked around Keith’s waist, drawing him closer and nipping lightly at his lower lip, as if they could never be close enough. Their legs entangled and they stumbled backward, their lips never parting as Keith’s back hit against a wooden post at the edge of the pitch. Lance made an apologetic noise in the back of his throat, but Keith just sighed into him contently, the chilled wood only making Lance’s touch warmer and softer. 

Lance began to pull agonizingly away, meeting Keith’s lips again, and again, this time tenderly and sweetly. A breathy laugh escaped him as he pressed his forehead against Keith’s. “Well, fuck-”

Keith leaned back to look at him, a sheepish smile pulling at his features. “Yeah.”

Lance lowered his head for a second, reaching down to entwine his fingers with Keith’s. “I shouldn’t have hooked up with Ada like that.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to push you out of the sky for hooking up with Ada,” Keith conceded with a sly smile.

“You’ve already done that, remember?” Lance snickered, “Semi-finals?”

“I have no regrets about _that_ ,” Keith snorted.

A smile spread over Lance’s face as their eyes met, drinking in each other’s gazes. “Me neither.” 


End file.
